


Living Memories

by Celtic_Knot



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Angst, Dark Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 01:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4202235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/pseuds/Celtic_Knot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>That thought is sharp, but not sharp enough. It does not cut right through him. Instead it rips, and tears along the way. This type of pain is the kind that levels all people. No matter how battle hardened he may be, this hurts.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>A moment of give and take between Souji and Saitou. (Saitou-centric.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Memories

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hakuouki, nor did I in any way contribute to its creation. All rights go to their respective owners.
> 
>  **WARNINGS:** Souji's illness, and the angsty thoughts only he can cause. Minor blood references. Sexual intimacy, but not graphic (I can't do graphic). Pondering death.
> 
> And here is an intermission from my regular Heisuke-centric programming! I figured it was about time to give some other characters a shot.

* * *

 

    Some blood stains are more stubborn than others. This is the third time he has washed, rinsed, and wrung out the same bundle of rags and still they refuse to come clean. Perhaps if they hadn’t sat for however many days before being washed they could have been cleaned properly. Instead the blood has had time to make itself a feature of the cloth. The blood is not so different from its owner, presence lingering no matter how many times it’s washed. Calloused hands twist one last time allowing as much water as possible to drop back into the basin. He’s done all he can to make himself useful while he waits. Laundry is done, dishes are washed, and indigents for a small dinner are prepared. Not that much of that dinner will actually get eaten by one of them. Sickness tricks the body into refusing what it needs most. It makes the stomach turn at the smell of food that would provide nourishment to fight back. It stiffens muscles, and feverish heat makes the body so uncomfortable that sleep will not come to give much needed rest. Most of the time illness passes, and everything returns to normal. This is not true for Souji. Tuberculosis is a fierce opponent, and it is immune to their usual way of fighting. No amount of skill with a sword will allow him to win against it. It fights dirty. Lurking inside Souji’s body, breaking him down bit by bit.

    Yamazaki and Matsumoto sensei complain that Souji is a terrible patient. Saitou would tend to agree except he does not view Souji as a patient. Patients somehow stop being human. They are cast aside, isolated, and become their illness. Souji will never be bloody coughs, soaring fevers, and night sweats. He will never be his translucent skin, and ever more prominent bones. He is a person. Still it is difficult to know how to treat him at times. He acts like there is nothing wrong, brushes off concern like an annoying insect. Yet… He’s scared, Saitou can tell. But it’s not death he fears. Death is inevitable, whether it comes swiftly or creeps up slowly. The end result is the same. It is the path leading up to death that matters, and Souji is terrified of wasting away until he is nothing but a burden on the man he has sworn the entirety of his loyalty to. He has turned himself into a sword for Kondo-san, and that has taken a toll on him in its own right. But to not be able to fulfill the promise he’d made to their commander, to be without his purpose… That would break Souji in places consumption could not touch. His dedication comes off as nearly obsessive, but Saitou cannot say anything. He holds that same level of loyalty, he just expresses it differently. Both are weapons sharpened to a razor’s edge. Killing comes naturally to them, and they have embraced that as an inescapable part of themselves. Souji often acts as though he enjoys killing, where Saitou prefers to dispatch his opponents with a quiet efficiency. He is also not convinced that it’s the killing Souji enjoys as much as being able to fulfill his reason for living. He passes no judgement on Souji the way others do, they are two sides of the same coin and Saitou can see his own image in the way Souji swings his sword.

    Fighting and killing are not his only talents. Saitou spends much of his time observing. Noticing tiny details that are often lost on others. It is all a part of being useful. His careful attention has proved a valuable asset to the Shinsengumi, and their vice commander time and time again. His mind contains a library of everything he has learned from watching and listening. Some of it is practical reference material, such as the strengths and weaknesses of every fighting school he has come across. Other contents are purely for enjoyment, to be pulled out when he needs to shake himself free of melancholy and uncertainty. How many times during his stay with Itou had he reached for the Baka Trio’s laughter, Chizuru’s smile, or Souji’s jokes (which never seem to sound like jokes to anyone else but he’s always been able to tell)? It would be unfair to say he is the only observant one. For his numerous faults Souji is nearly as watchful as he. The games he plays with others require a meticulous understanding of how their mind works, what makes them lower their guard, what sets them off. These are things that are not learned over night. They are uncovered piece by piece, until they can be put together into a map of that person. He knows Souji’s map of him is intricate, and quite accurate. But it has been an exchange. For each part of him that he’s allowed Souji to draw, he has gained a clearer image of the other in return. It started from the moment they met.

    If he thinks back on it, Souji was the very first person to acknowledge his strength. Before Hijikata even. He’d helped Saitou to fully accept his unorthodox swordsmanship. That first sparring match had been exactly what needed. Each had been seeking _something_ to provide validation to their beliefs, and had found it in an opponent who was of equal strength. From the first attack he had known the man standing across from him was unlike any other he’d faced. They were mirror images of the same fighting spirit. Only those who had powerful convictions could become powerful warriors, and Souji Okita fit the bill perfectly. His left-handed stance hadn’t phased his opponent in the least. There was no name calling, no claims of ‘cheating.’ If anything he viewed it like a problem to solve. A puzzle to try and figure out how to place his attacks into spaces that were different from any he had encountered previously. Souji is good at puzzles. Saitou still remembers the way a sting exploded in his ribs, flowering out from where the bokken had struck him. The call of, “One point” hadn’t reached his ears. He had taken the pain from his injury and held tightly to it, wringing out of it everything he could learn about the other. What made him become this strong? There’s was story written in his movements, and Saitou had had every intention of learning to read it. The pace of their match had been relentless, drawing him in deeper and deeper. He had always been very careful in maintaining control of himself, but there was something about Souji that took over senses until his opponent was the only thing in the world he acknowledged. At Hijikata-san’s orders Harada had had to physically restrain him, as Heisuke and Shinpachi did the same to Souji. Which hand he dominantly used to guide his blade didn’t matter to them. None of the Shinsengumi leaders could claim that they were ‘normal’ anyway. Shieikan had brought together men from vastly different backgrounds under one roof, and behind a common goal. That sparring match was the start of it all for him. But he no longer has the opportunity to share that kind of exhilaration with Souji. It is the thirteenth time this month he has found himself longing to spar with his equal. Fighting cannot be his concern right now, though.

    Stepping back inside the first thing he notices is Souji beginning to stir. Good. He needs to eat, and Saitou is prepared to force his medicine down his throat. (That will be a battle in its own right.) News that Souji has not been taking it is just one of the many reasons he’s here today. Souji has a different kind of respect for him than he holds for one such as Yamazaki. If he strategizes correctly he should be able to use that advantage to get Matsumoto’s concoction down Souji’s throat with only minor protesting. Blankets rustle several times before his gaze meets that of Souji’s. The haziness of sleep lingers on him. This is a small blessing. Rarely is he able to fall into a deep enough sleep that it remains wrapped around him after waking instead of fleeing at the first disturbance. Even light sleep is better than the nights he isn’t able to rest at all. When lungs are too busy purging blood, and struggling for air to realize the rest of the body they belong to has been dragged past the point of exhaustion.

   “Watching me sleep again, Hajime-kun?”

    4 and a half seconds between waking and his first jest. It’s a good day. Saitou has his own ways of measuring Souji’s condition. He won’t check his pulse, or the colors of his gums like the others. Will not document exactly how much blood he sprays with each cough, or count how many gasping breaths he takes in one minute. These things do not inform him of how _Souji_ is doing, they are indications of how the tuberculosis is progressing. Tuberculosis is not a friend of his, he has no intention of asking it how it is faring. He’ll count the number of times Souji laughs in an hour, monitor the way life flickers in his eyes with each teasing remark he makes. He’ll note every time he asks about Kondo-san, or criticizes Hijikata-san.

   “I have kept myself busy while you slept.” He doesn’t always offer a reply to the baiting remarks his friend makes, but today… Today he wants him to be curious. He hasn’t done anything exciting, but he will not tell Souji that. Not when he wants to take these moments to observe him as he perks up and glances around the room. Can he figure out what Saitou had been doing while he slept? Another one of his tests that are so very different from the doctor’s. A smirk tugging at Souji’s lips almost makes Saitou smile. He’s got it. He’s still as sharp as ever, still Souji.

   “Oh you did my laundry Hajime-kun? How domestic of you. Are you going to make dinner too?” The last part is meant to be a joke, but Souji quickly realizes he is correct. Saitou’s facial expression must have given it away. He would be slightly annoyed at Souji’s uncanny ability to read him, if this exchange were happening a year ago. Things are different now, and the familiarity of it all is reassuring.

   “You need to eat.” His voice is sharp as he grabs rag that had previously been draped across Souji’s brow. It’s dry, and the warmth of the body it was cooling still lingers on it. Wordlessly he goes to bring a fresh cloth, and basin of water. Amusement is tugging at Souji’s mouth when he returns and begins dabbing the cool cloth against fever flushed skin. Cold water against heated skin can cause a deep ache that seems to burrow into the bones. If Souji feels such pain at the touch of the cloth he doesn’t show it. There are many things Souji does not show, and that has become problematic in trying to treat his illness. It has become very difficult to know what is a sign of progress is, and what is sheer stubbornness.

   “I don’t remember you being this much of a mother-hen~” _Why are you doing this?_

   “Yamazaki and Matsumoto sensei have grown weary of your behavior. I am here to relieve them for a while.” Weary of his behavior, and tired of trying to manage his attitude. But they are going about it the wrong way. Matsumoto is too kind, he gives Souji too much room to push back. Yamazaki is overbearing, and he allows his temper to fall victim to Souji’s swinging moods and flippantness. Saitou, on the other hand, can manage him better than anyone. Even Kondo-san. There is no question that the older man cares deeply for Souji as though he were a brother, but he is not watchful enough. He doesn’t see the way Souji’s attachment to him is damaging. Does not see how Souji is constantly seeking the type of praise he gave to Hijikata-san, only to be disappointed time and time again. Still he won’t criticize Souji for his loyalty to Kondo-san, no matter how much it costs him. He is much the same way when it comes their Oni vice commander. His hand tightens unconsciously around the cloth he’s still holding against his friend’s forehead.

   Water droplets race each other down Souji’s face. He failed to wring the rag out enough, but the excess water won’t hurt anything and Souji’s laughing. It’s breathier than normal, but not choked off by wet coughs or wheezing. Each drop of water leaves a cooling trail on clammy flesh. One catches in his eyebrow, while another makes it all the way down to his lips where it spreads out into the seam of them. Souji makes a show of licking the water away, exaggerating the movements of his tongue. It is obvious what he’s trying to do. Getting under Saitou’s skin is a feat that not many can achieve. Years of living as an outcast has allowed him to craft a mask in the image of an emotionless slab, but sometimes wearing it makes it hard to breath. He has to remove it every so often, and Souji manages to push him to that point more than others. Push him, but not unsettle him the way he does to others. They accept each other as they are, whether coated in blood or lying in a sick bed. And yet their ability to understand one another also helps to keep them on their toes. At first it was unnerving to have someone know him so well, but now it is (was) quite pleasant to be able to fight alongside Souji without having to say a word. It’s a beneficial friendship that they have forged through the heat of countless battles. The line between friend and comrade has long since become indistinguishable. And recently Souji has been flirting with yet another boundary. More accurately he has been brazenly stepping over it… Only to retreat, and taunt Saitou into following him back across. Saitou himself is not blameless. Stopping or continuing had been his decision entirely, and here he is. Maybe it’s because he has never been able to back down from a challenge, especially one from Souji. Saitou has always been fully committed to serving the Shinsengumi, to being a sword. However, he _is_ still human. He cannot survive off of nothing the way a blade can. He allows himself this one indulgence.

   There is risk involved in this though. It stirs up feelings that he is not yet ready to deal with the implications of. Feelings that entangle him, winding around and around until he is inexplicably linked to Souji. Perhaps they were always on a collision course with each other, but illness has forced time’s hand and whatever this _thing_ they’re doing is-. It has begun to drag them beyond the point of return. Souji often uses too many words, and Saitou not enough. Neither of them have talked about what they’re doing. Whatever is growing between them does not require words. Still it is strange to never address it out loud. They both know it is there, but giving it a name… That is yet to happen. Tracing the angles of Souji’s face with the washcloth is a nice distraction from trying to (not) match words to feelings. Bones are closer to the skin than they used to be, and skin appears grayer. All the vibrancy that is Souji, is becoming washed out by this killer disease. But there is still intensity in his eyes and Saitou focuses on that. Focuses on the way those eyes watching him makes something inside him jump up, and jolt down spine. These sensations are pleasant, for certain. But it is more than that. More than just him, when Souji reaches up to trail a hand through Saitou’s hair. Eyes close briefly in appreciation. That hand that has dispensed death to so many others is capable of a gentleness few get to witness, and he is privileged enough to share in this softer side of Souji. That privilege doesn’t last long. Sharp pain spikes against his skull, as he tumbles down onto Souji. Did he just yank his hair like that? He shoots him an accusatory glare that is meant to be intimidating, but the desired effect is completely lost on his target.

   “You were dozing off on me. You’re pretty lousy company.” Souji’s chest rattles a bit, but there is still dangerous humor dancing around the corners of his mouth. Danger is something he misses, so he’ll keep prodding Saitou like this until they’re engaged in a different kind of fight.

   “I was not in danger of falling asleep.”

   “Sure you weren’t. You looked like a sleepy cat.”

   “I am certain I do not resemble a cat.”

“Aww but Hajime, cats are cute!”

   Even more reason that he does not bare resemblance to a feline. He lets the argument drop, and notices the way Souji has forgone the –kun. He does this from time to time now. Saitou doesn’t find himself bothered by it, although perhaps he should.

   Heat radiates from the body under him, and it would be nice to pretend that it’s not from the fever, but Saitou has never been one to lie to himself or others. He is not particularly heavy when compared to someone like Shinpachi or Sanosuke, but still his weight is enough that it must be adding more pressure to Souji’s already straining lungs. He laces his fingers with Souji’s before rolling off of his chest. He’s not sure of all of the reasons why, but he knows they both need this. His eyes fall to where he has brought their hands together, as if he can keep everything they’ve experienced captured between their palms. Sparring, kitchen disasters, chasing cats, bad jokes, blood, illness, and quiet moments like this… He’d come to Shieikan expecting to be rejected as he had been from every other dojo he had gone to. They’d accepted him. Souji had accepted him, and they had all these things between them now that would be gone someday. Death is a reality of life. This has never bothered Saitou, it still does not. What does sneak into his mind is what Souji is willing to do to prolong his own life. To be useful to Kondo-san is all Souji has ever wanted, and if ochimizu could help him do that well… Saitou wouldn’t be surprised if he resorted it. Unlike Heisuke, Souji has no qualms about being a monster. He already considers himself inhuman. How long would his mind be able to take it? What would crack first, his brain or his body? These are questions he doesn’t think on for long. What he does know is that if Souji were to lose his mind, he would like to be the one to kill him. Another may just end him mindlessly, deposing of a monster as quickly as possible. Souji deserves better than that. Deserves someone who would take his life, and knot each intricacy of the person he had been around their fingers so that he may never be forgotten. That would be his final thank you of sorts to the man who shared so much with him…

   Coughing breaks Saitou out of his morbid thoughts. Souji clasps his hand tighter, and turns his head away with each brutal sound that forces its way from his throat. There is blood. Not as much as there is sometimes, but enough that Saitou’s stomach clenches. There is not much he can do. He is not a doctor. He feels useless, and that is pushes him to act. There is less hesitancy than the first time he tried to use touch to provide comfort. Learning Souji’s body has come almost as naturally as swordsmanship. He is confident in his ability to know what will be a welcome distraction from the pain Souji has been living with. He runs his fingers up and down Souji’s throat, trying to coax the coughs into subsiding. The skin here is soft compared the sharp angles, and hard planes elsewhere on Souji’s body. It is thin, and he can feel the muscles under his fingertips working to clear the airway. He continues tracing up and down, pace never changing. Steady is something he excels at. Panic will not whip him into a frenzy, and he will not making scolding remarks about how maybe this would happen less if Souji took better care of himself. Others are capable of filling those rolls. But this is something only he can do. There is satisfaction in being the only one able to complete a task. He finds even more reward in that he is able to give something that Souji will accept from no one else.

   “I’m fine. Those bastards just don’t let me outside enough, the stale air dries my throat out.” It’s a lie, and they both know it.

   “It is too cold for you outside right now.”

   “Are you offering to warm me up?”

   “And what if I am?” This was not his intention, but the challenge slipped out before he could stop it. He has spent too much time around Souji.

   “Then you’re going to have to work harder than that. I’ll show you how it’s done, because I’m such a gracious teacher.”

   Common sense tells him he should shove Souji away, and deposit another blanket on him if he is so desperate for warmth. But breath against his neck stops him. It whispers of everything he may never get to experience again, of everything Souji may never get to do again. Breathing itself is something that is precious to Souji now, every successful inhale and exhale is far more valuable than any sum of money. Reaching up he removes the tie that has been used to bind auburn hair. His fingers slip through Souji’s hair, and down his back where he begins to trace different patterns. Pressing firmer for every memory of them fighting side by side. A tickling touch for each time they shared a smile. And a gentle glide for every moment they stood in solidarity. Souji is becoming more insistent, he can feel teeth grazing his collar bone. He has half a mind to wait, to make Souji work for it a while longer. But that is not what is needed today. These weeks have been hard on them both. Spying on Itou, a growing inability to breathe… Today is a day for comfort, but long conversations and back patting have never been his style. Instead he reaches behind Souji’s head, and forces him to look him in the eye before he presses their mouths together. Souji hums in approval. Saitou will provide what he needs. Giving breath and life, swallowing frustration and the bitter taste of medicine. A shiver jumps through Souji’s body when he takes his lower lip between his teeth and tugs just enough. This is only kind of trembling he wants from the other. The kind that reminds him of the anticipation that would course through Souji right before he drew his sword.

   They have never been one sided, _this_ has never been one sided. Souji has lost so much. His health, his purpose… But he still he gives, and that is what makes him the type of person Saitou can admire. Hands find his hips, and pull until they are pressed firmly together. Souji’s fingers are probably leaving marks. Saitou still wishes he would hold tighter. Every finger shaped bruise will remind him of all the strength left in those hands. Souji cannot grasp a real sword, so Saitou will allow him to hold onto him like this. It’s a substitution that is agreeable to them both. But letting him hold him, and letting him take complete control are two very different things and he intends to remind Souji of that. His own hands begin to loosen Souji’s yukata, pulling the edges until it is easy to work arms out of sleeves. Clothing is looser than it used to be, and it slides off of shoulders with almost no coaxing.

   “Taking my clothes off? I thought you were trying warm me up, Hajime-kun?” If Saitou were anyone else he would roll his eyes.

   “I am. You appear warmer to me.” There is a hint of a smile that creeps into his voice when Souji expression goes from indigent back to mischievous. What he said is true though. The chills from the fever are less apparent now.

   “I suppose you’re doing a decent job, but-” Breath catches, and words dissolve into a gasp as he sucks on the hollow between Souji’s collar bones.

   One hands runs down Souji’s chest, tracing along a path toward his stomach. Muscles jump at the touch, but Saitou is more focused on trying to memorize each ridge and dip. He wraps his fingers around a wrist, and pulls it to his mouth. Kissing Souji’s pulse brings him closer to the thrum of life that still remains. And Souji is watching him with this strange expression that has softened his eyes in a way that causes warmth to curl up in Saitou’s stomach and settle there. It is both wonderful and horrible, because he wants this moment to last… But if Souji were not dying would they be here like this at all? He is not the only one who is attentive to the other’s needs, and Souji will _not_ let him linger on thoughts of death. They are very much alive, and that only becomes more apparent when Saitou finds himself being disrobed. Nibble fingers have him bare to the waist in moments. _Now we’re even_. Hands tangle in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss. Skin slides against skin, and they do not magically mold together. They bruise, lock, and grind. They are after all two separate people. It is pure fantasy to believe that there would not be imperfections in the way their bodies fit together. But it’s those imperfections that make them so good for each other. They inhale and exhale at opposite times, and that is fine. God knows he’ll allow Souji to borrow as much breath as he needs. Souji’s hip bones sick out a bit more than they used to, and they are sharp against his. But that dull ache is everything he wants. Physical sensations are easier to remember than words, and this is one more thing he’ll have to hold onto to should he outlive Souji. Nothing is certain in war, he could die tomorrow. But tomorrow doesn’t matter.

   Tomorrow is locked outside their walls, and they have brought time to a grinding halt. It is the same as their first sparring match. They have closed off everything but each other, and no one can will ever get to see what they have revealed to each other. Surely he will never show anyone else the way he gasps and fights to keep other awkward sounds at bay. Won’t show the way emotion cracks through the mask, and is as plain as day on his face when he’s pushed toward the edge. _Won’t show that tenderness and compassion that a sword should not be capable of._ And he knows that he will be the only one who gets to witness how Souji needs to hold onto something when they do this. Hands, hair, hips, anything just so long as it grounds him. It will be his secret that Souji arches his back like one of those cats he’s so fond of when Saitou finds just the right spot. _Only he’ll see Souji this raw, this free._ There is a small sense of pride in this, but even more so a feeling of complete trust. It is impossible to know every single detail of one’s mind, but they know more of each other than anyone else. Souji is licking at that delicate spot just behind his ear, while he’s busy pressing his palms in kneading motions against Souji’s chest. Timing the pressure of his movements along with each breath requires almost no thought. He knows those breaths as if they were his own. Actually, Souji is not the only one whose lungs are misbehaving. Saitou himself is gasping now, pushing closer to that warmth that has nothing to do with fever. This is too much, and not enough all at once.

   He needs more, needs Souji to understand what all they’ve shared leading up to now has meant to him. Long winded speeches, and heartfelt confessions are not his area of expertise. They are also not what Souji requires of him. So he will tell him with his body instead. Each touch, all their kisses, and every movement he makes will write the story of how they got to this moment. That story needs to be written in his bones, and he is depending on Souji to put it there as their clothing finally makes its way off the lower halves of their bodies. His fingers trail down to thighs that have not yet lost all of their muscle tone. The curvature of hamstrings under his touch burns into his memory how swiftly Souji could move. The bend of a knee speaks of how it helped Souji to explode from his fighting stance to meet opponent after opponent. Time and illness would steal Souji away from the Shinsengumi, away from him. But this it could never take. All Souji was, and everything he had done would be echoed in Saitou’s being for the rest of his existence. It would be selfish to just take all of this comfort, and provide nothing in return. So he gives, and gives. Souji’s lips and tongue trace the curve of his shoulder, the line of his jaw, the planes of his chest and stomach, and then back up to his lips. He is committing Saitou to memory as well. When this is all said and done Souji’s lips will be able to tell his brain exactly how Saitou’s muscles slide under skin. He’ll be able to recall how those jaw bones that are normally set in quiet determination, allowed Saitou’s mouth to drop open with each shuddering breath. It is Saitou’s sincere hope that Souji will find solace, find purpose, and find strength in what he learns tonight. And just maybe those things he has taken from Saitou will help him to face whatever end he is intended to meet. His hands are guided lower, and lower. Souji is looking at him with equal parts expectation and impatience. He feels compelled to ask, but it takes him several moments to convince his mouth that it is still capable of forming real words.

   “What is it?”

   “How long are you going to make me wait, Hajime-kun? It’s pretty rude of you to hold out on me.” It’s one of those joking, not jokes that Souji is so good at.

   “You don’t actually wish for me to rush this, stop being stubborn.”

   Saitou does not need to be reminded that Souji doesn’t have forever. They do not have forever. So he’ll make every second count. And maybe he’ll never know exactly what they are to one another, but that is infinitely less important than what are willing to do for each other. Pinning Souji between himself and the floor is a somewhat selfish act. If he can just keep him here, locked between two solid objects then he cannot possibly leave, right? It is a foolish hope, but Souji seems to understand when he reaches toward Saitou’s face and runs calloused fingers along cheek bones. The touch is soft, and gentle, and reassuring. Not anything that comes to mind when thinking of Souji. But Saitou knows better. He’ll watch the rise and fall of Souji’s chest before deciding it is definitely quicker, and there are signs of strain. But Souji is winning, because air is still entering and exiting his lungs without coughs or blood. Certainly this deserves a reward, so he leans forward and sets to work making sure the only thing they’re capable of focusing on is each other.

   Fingers grasp his, squeezing tighter and tighter. Holding hands this way is not necessary, but it has become habit for them. Holding on through ragged breathes, and shuddering muscles. There is an intensity, and honestly that will stick to them long after they’ve washed away the sweat from tonight’s events. Neither one has ever shown much of an interest in the red light district the way the others have. But they’re not doing this for sex alone, as pleasant as it may be. This is _you’re not alone_ , and _keep fighting_ , and _remember me_ all rolled into their tangled limbs. They’re still holding on as they push each other closer, and closer. Somehow Saitou manages to seal their lips together as they teeter over edge. They share every gasp, moan, and breath until they’ve come down from their high. Slowly, the rest of the world sharpens back into view. The bitter smell of herbs being brewed into medicine, and the moonbeams filtering through the window are not what catch his attention.

   Souji’s eyes are practically glowing in the darkness, and Saitou can read him like an open book. Tiredness, humor, wistfulness, and contentment are all there in equal parts. And there is something else… He looks again and he can see himself too. When hasn’t Souji shown him himself? From their very first moments Souji mirrored him, showed him what he was and what he could be. He had seen his own unusual swordsmanship, and killer instinct through Souji’s eyes and for once found no judgement. No repulsion, no fear, no scorn. And when Souji Okita ceases to exist who will be his mirror? Who will insist on walking on his right side? Who will over salt his food, and piss off Hijikata-san so that he will once again acknowledge Saitou as the only sane one? Who will understand him, and everything he is the way Souji can? No one. That thought is sharp, but not sharp enough. It does not cut right through him. Instead it rips, and tears along the way. This type of pain is the kind that levels all people. No matter how battle hardened he may be, this hurts.

   “Hajime.” Souji’s voice is barely a whisper. “I haven’t given up yet. I know you all think I don’t take this seriously enough…”

   “I know.” It’s short, but it’s all he can manage right now. Souji always seems to know what he needs. He will come to terms with this almost certain to be inevitable loss, but more time… That would be appreciated, and Souji is willing to give him that. Willing to keep fighting.

   “Good. So stop worrying, you’re killing the mood.”

   This makes him chuckle. Just the smallest sound, but it earns him a smile and that is enough for Saitou. He moves over until their sides are pressed together. Souji hooks an ankle around his lower leg. Silence is not awkward between them. His thumb traces Souji’s knuckles, they never did let go. Sleep grips Souji first, and for once his slumber isn’t plagued with violent shaking and night sweats. This is no miracle, it is not a permanent victory. And in a few hours morning will come, and life will continue. He will have to return to the rest of the Shinsengumi, and Souji will be left with Matsumoto sensei until he shows significant improvement. There is no way around it. But tonight will last well beyond the sunrise. Time, distance, and bloodshed will never be enough to cleanse Souji from his memory. Because Souji is alive, and there parts of him that will remain alive long after his body can no longer sustain itself. Saitou will remember. Remember this, remember them. Life writes a different story for each of them, but he and Souji’s… They were always meant to be read together.

 

**Author's Note:**

> See what happens when I try to write Saitou? I put myself through the emotional ringer. 
> 
> Anyway, this was an experimental fic for me. I wanted to try writing Saitou in a bit of a more emotionally vulnerable state. I almost used Chizuru for my emotional button-pusher, but there are only 7 other Souji/Saitou fics on here that I'm aware of so there you have it.
> 
> This was tricky, but I enjoy a challenge. I debated sweeping it under the rug of "Questionable Writing Decisions," but here it is.


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